Poseidon's Ransom

Chapter Thirty

The flight, as expected, did depart on time and the layover in the Business Lounge in Vienna was not unpleasant. Bogdan ate, and drank a few beers, then drifted off to sleep in the comfy armchair. Jack spent over half an hour chatting to Nicole and his daughters, who were delighted to hear daddy’s voice.

A short call to Mathew to ‘check-in’ and see if there were any up-dates, was followed by an unexpected call from Dimitri.

‘Hello, my boy.’

‘Hello, sir. Whatsup?’

‘I have a little more information for you. Might save you some time in Florence.

‘Okay, thanks, Mitri.’

‘Olga will send you a location shortly. I’ve spoken with them and they are expecting you tonight.’

‘Right… we don’t land until twenty-one-hundred hours. So, depending on where the place is, we could be late.’

‘It’s not an issue, Jack. They’ll be there waiting for you.’

‘Sounds good. Thank you, sir.’

‘And, Jack… please be careful. These are extremely powerful people you are dealing with.’

The second leg of their journey also went as hoped, with the plane touching down at Peretola International a few minutes before 9pm. Jack had googled the location Olga had sent, about twelve miles north-east of Florence, close to the small town of Borgo San Lorenzo.

They cleared Immigration and Customs and made their way to the waiting line of taxis. The driver, clearly happy to pick-up two visitors, had the thought of making a little extra money on the fare, but when Jack gave the destination in perfect Italian, the driver shrugged and pulled away from the kerb.

The ride from the airport to San Lorenzo took a little over forty-five minutes, and although the town was only twelve miles from Florence, as-the-crow-flies, it was almost thirty miles by road. Once there it took a few more minutes to find the actual location, and when the cab pulled up to the gates, the driver was clearly apprehensive, as there was nothing but darkness.

The sky was black, with the moon obscured behind heavy cloud. As the gates swung silently open two figures emerged from the shadows. One stood in front of the car, the headlights glinting on the Beretta machine-pistol in his hands. The second, opened the rear door and said, ‘Buona sera, signiori.’

Jack paid the driver and climbed out. ‘Buona sera.’

The man then turned to the driver, and with a wave of his hand, said, ‘Avanti.’

As the taxi pulled away, the man indicated a six-seater golf buggy, just to the right of the gate. ‘Prego, signiori.’

Jack and Bogdan took the middle seats, as the man with the gun sat behind them. The cart lurched as it pulled away into the shadows. They continued for a couple of minutes through a heavily wooded area and then came out onto a well-lit driveway. A hundred yards ahead, and surrounded by floodlit gardens, was what appeared to be a 12th century castle.

As the buggy pulled up to the bottom of the entrance steps, a man, dressed in evening suit, came down to greet them. Jack and Bogdan climbed out, and the cart drove off.

The man offered his hand. ‘Good evening, Mr Castle.’

As they shook hands, Jack said, ‘Good evening. This is… ‘

‘Mr Markov. Yes, we are expecting you both.’ He offered his hand to Bogdan.

The big Russian smiled. ‘Hullo.’

‘My name is Giovanni. Welcome to the Castello San Lorenzo, gentlemen.’

Jack and Bogdan followed Giovanni into the old building. The exterior, although well maintained, was as it had been, almost a thousand years ago. The interior had kept its medieval countenance, but it was clear the castle had been modernised with state of the art air-conditioning, new marble floors and contemporary windows. The walls were hung with works by many of the old masters and the statues were an equal to any in the museums of Florence or Rome. Antique furniture was everywhere. This was not contrived opulence, this was the real deal.

Giovanna said, ‘Here we are,’ then turned and opened a heavily-studded oak door.

As they entered the room the occupants stood to greet them. Two men and a woman, probably between sixty and seventy, dressed elegantly in evening-wear, stood in front of a huge fireplace.

‘Gentlemen, please come in,’ said the woman.

Giovanni introduced Jack and Bogdan to the woman. This is the Contessa Maria Alaria di Vincenzo.’

‘Contessa,’ said Jack, as he took her hand and kissed it.

The woman smiled. ‘Please, call me Maria. And, Mr Markov. Welcome.’

The Russian smiled.

Maria introduced the other men. ‘This is my great friend Myles DeVere, one of your fellow countrymen, Jack. And this is Takashi Miori, recently arrived from Japan.’

Hands were shaken, and they sat down on the three large chesterfields that surrounded a low coffee table. A silver ice bucket with an unopened bottle of vintage Dom Perignon, a couple of decanters of spirit and several small bottles of mineral water where laid out.

‘Can we get you a drink gentleman,’ said Giovanni.

‘Water’s fine, thank you,’

The woman smiled. ‘Yes of course. You don’t drink, do you, Jack. Not so you, Mr Bogdan?’

The big man smiled. ‘Da. Not so me, Contessa.’